


Grace for Sale

by kaijuvenom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A circus will be involved, But There Will Not Be Any Major Warnings In Future Chapters Except Maybe Slightly Graphic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, M/M, Mild Angst, Moral Ambiguity, More characters to be added, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Possible Additional Tags May Be Added, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Slow Burn, There will be a semi-serious plot, due to the mutual pining, flashbacks in which they both pine for each other, like the dumb gays they are, mutually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: The reason most humans take spontaneous road trips is for stress relief, so Crowley took it upon himself to invite Aziraphale on an extended road trip to who-knows-where. Unfortunately, the stress of nearly witnessing the apocalypse combined with being hopelessly in love with the same best friend you asked on said road trip only makes you more stressed, and tends to bring up unresolved emotions. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale realized this until they'd already begun the road trip, and by then, it was too late to call it off, because both of them keep insisting they're having a wonderful time, and they don't want to ruin the other's fun, do they?[oops this was supposed to be multichaptered,but I gave up and it won't be continued]All these fickle beasts that Heaven hath rejected, lapping glory from our teats. Each of them is tested, blessed, cast out for sin. Come here for redemption. We've got grace for cheap.





	Grace for Sale

“ _Fa la la… it’s off to hell we go…”_

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley for the briefest of moments before he was forced to look away by the squeal of tires on pavement and an angry car horn, signalling Crowley had cut off yet another unsuspecting commuter.

“ _Cross your heart and hope to die… it’s off to hell we go.”_

“Pardon?” Aziraphale asked, looking back at him, which was a mistake for their health and safety, because nearly immediately after speaking, Crowley turned to look at him, blatantly ignoring all laws as he plowed directly into several traffic cones and a road work sign.

“What?”

“You were singing,” Aziraphale prompted. That wasn’t an unusual occurrence, or even something he would normally comment on, except that the song itself was quite different from his usual choice.

“So I was. Problem, angel?”

Cue the little heart palpitation. “Ah- no. Only attempting a conversation.”

“Not your best attempt.” Crowley was still staring at him, or at least- he assumed Crowley was staring at him, his head was turned in that direction, but his sunglasses made it impossible to tell.

“Just- keep your eyes on the road, Crowley.”

“Mmhm. Whatever you say.”

He went back to singing shortly after, and Aziraphale decided not to question it again, he stayed quiet and pretended to be looking out Crowley’s window (he was really staring at Crowley, but he was being very subtle about it, he’d never notice).

“ _Stick a needle in your eye, it’s off to hell we go._ ” As a matter of fact, Crowley did notice, and he was staring right back at Aziraphale through his dark sunglasses as he sang quietly to himself.

“We have hours before we get to a place to stop for the night, you know,” Aziraphale commented after a little while.

Crowley hummed in response, swerving across the lane to pass an unsuspecting minivan. “Point?”

“We should do something to pass the time.” He gave Crowley a little smile.

“And what would you suggest?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Tell me a story.”

He laughed, an oddly soft sound coming from him. His laugh should’ve been sharper, colder, crueler. Everything about him should’ve been more like that, in fact. Yet somehow, he wasn’t. Everything would have been so much easier had he been.

“A story? What story could I possibly tell you that you wouldn’t have already heard?”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure there’s something. Go on, think about it.”

Aziraphale was grinning now, and Crowley couldn’t just- deny him? He looked so happy, and… stop that train of thought.

“Alright, alright, stop with the puppy dog eyes, let me think of something.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, staring at Aziraphale. God, he was gorgeous. Adorable, pure, ethereal, and so deserving of someone who wasn’t Crowley, someone who wouldn’t have the thoughts of him that Crowley had, someone who wouldn’t tempt him in all the terrible ways… “Menaka.”

Aziraphale blinked. “What?”

Crowley blinked, and recovered quickly, looking back at the road before Aziraphale reprimanded him. “The Hindu story of Menaka.” God damn it all, he didn’t want to tell this story, fuck- “Have you heard of it?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes back as he thought, looking up at the roof of the car. “It rings a very faint bell. Refresh my memory?”

Crowley cringed a little, instantly regretting every decision he’d ever made in his life. Which was quite a lot of decisions, but that was irrelevant. “Menaka. Was an apsaras. A nymph goddess. Meant by her creators, the devas, to be the most beautiful creature in existence, one whom no one could resist, and they planned to use her to manipulate and… tempt mortal men towards more human, and in their eyes, lower… instincts.”

“You can say sex, you know, I’m not a prude,” Aziraphale interrupted.

That got a loud snort of laughter and an eyebrow raise from Crowley. “You are, literally, the definition of a prude. At any rate, Menaka was beautiful, she could look at you and you’d swoon, just like that.” He snapped his fingers in front of Aziraphale’s  face, who immediately grabbed Crowley’s hand and put it back on the steering wheel.

“But she also had a mind of her own. She didn’t want to be a… tool used for manipulation, a young temptress meant to lead good men off their path. But that didn’t stop the devas from sending her down to earth to seduce a sage whom they thought was getting a little too uppity and powerful for their taste.”

Crowley took an abrupt left turn at a red light, ignoring the cement truck that honked at them, before merging onto the freeway, going at the very least, double the speed limit.

Aziraphale stayed quiet, despite the troubled look on his face. The troubled look could have been contributed easily to the driving, but it was likely a reaction to where this story seemed to be headed.

“But she listened, because what could she do? So what, she was intelligent, kind, loving? So what if she wanted a family? She had a job to do.”

He took a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly and speeding up the car, flipping off a Fiat Pinto as he did. Aziraphale gave the car a little apology wave as they whipped by.

“So this man, obviously, immediately fell for her, forgot all about accumulating power to harness the devas, married her immediately, and they had a child together. Menaka was happy, of course, this was what she had always wanted. Then-”

“Then they lived happily ever after?”

Crowley scoffed, jerking the steering wheel to the right for seemingly no reason. Gotta keep things interesting.

“After years, she told him she was a nymph sent to tempt him away from his power and keep him in line, but that she truly had never wanted to, had never wanted to hurt him, she loved him from the beginning. And… well, it varies by story, but the general consensus is that he forced her to drown their own child in a stream before exiling her and later remarrying. Still, he loved her, and named his country after the child he had killed, to keep her memory alive.”

“Well that… seems extreme,” Aziraphale muttered after a long, awkward moment that would have been apt to having a cricket chirping from some nearby place, as he picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

“Does it? Really? He had his whole life ahead of him, a destiny to fulfill, power to harness the gods, and she stole it all away from him.” Crowley was inclined to agree with Aziraphale on some level, but there was no way he was saying that.

“Well, even if- if that was her doing, she never wanted to, did she? You said it yourself, the devas forced her.”

“Did they? That’s only one iteration of the story. Many others, where she kills her husband in his sleep, seizes the power for herself, seduces hundreds of men, and so on. How do you know which one she really felt, which one was really true?” Crowley had actually slowed down the car and was now driving at a normal speed, both his hands on the wheel and staring straight ahead. “Would you ever truly be able to trust someone like her, who, at her core, was created for the sole purpose of tempting others into evil? How could you believe she ever loved anyone?”

Aziraphale wanted to ask if they were still talking about the story, or if this was Crowley’s roundabout way of asking for trust. But that couldn’t be right, it was just a philosophical discussion. About morals. That happened to correlate directly to their situation. Although… in this case, did that mean Aziraphale would be Menaka’s husband? Who would ultimately kill his and Crowley’s hypothetical child because- no. Okay, he was very certain this was in no way applicable to their situation. Obviously not.

“I suppose… I couldn’t really. But I tend to be a rather trusting person. It’s like you’ve always said, everyone has a mix of good and bad in them, not everything is black and white.”

Crowley pulled off his sunglasses, placing them in the glove compartment, before letting out a long sigh. “That’s humans, not creatures created by gods to be one thing and one thing only.”

Again, Aziraphale was struck by how soft and quiet his voice was, how absolutely lovely he looked with the miles of rolling hills behind him, a soft blanket of stars, his perfect eyes illuminated-

“Hey, asshole! Stay in your damn lane!”

… Well, that moment was ruined.

Aziraphale looked away from him, blinking quickly. “Gods… don’t create creatures do to one thing only,” he finally responded.

“Really, angel? They don’t?”

Aziraphale shifted, looking down at his lap. “No. Even if they do intend to, it’s never going to be perfect.” He swallowed. “Angels… can fall.”

“And can demons rise?”

The sharp tone was back in Crowley’s voice, and Aziraphale almost flinched away. “I- I don’t-”

“Can demons rise?” Crowley repeated, still staring straight ahead.

“...No.”

“Exactly,” he said triumphantly, as if he’d just proved his point.

“What?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, taking a second to answer. “If angels can fall, but demons can’t rise, that implies that a creature created with one purpose, with a sense of morals strictly decided upon by their creator, can only become worse. They can never become better, or even as good as they once were. Not making much of a case for our dear Menaka, are you?”

“I never said angels are good and demons are bad,” Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley made a small noise in the back of his throat, as if he was about to say something very prominent, but then simply cleared his throat.

“In fact, I don’t even think I believe that.”

“That’s not something you want to be saying out loud, angel.”

“Why, are the ducks listening?” Aziraphale asked teasingly, trying to lighten the mood and move away from serious things.

“Oh, shut up.” Crowley smiled anyway, shaking his head lightly. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

“You? Worry? About me?” Color Aziraphale flabbergasted at that.

“You don’t have to act so shocked, we have known each other for about six thousand years now. Survived an apocalypse together.”

He shifted, looking away from Crowley (finally) and out his own window, staring up at the slowly rising moon, resting his temple on the window. “Yes, well, you’re…”

“I’m?”

“You know, a- you know, you’re a demo-”

Aziraphale was cut off by Crowley’s sudden laughter, giving him a confused look before turning back to the window.

“I’m a demon? That’s your reasoning for thinking I don’t give a fuck about my best friend?”

“I never said I thought-”

“Oh, but you did, angel. You did. Maybe not exactly, but you did. And after just waxing poetic about how you think demons aren’t bad.” Crowley didn’t say anything after that, and Aziraphale couldn’t exactly think of a response, or a way to express an apology for insinuating he couldn’t trust Crowley—at least, not without having to say ‘I’m sorry’.

So they were quiet, completely and utterly silent, for the remainder of the drive to their first stop, a rundown old motel with a gas station next door. Crowley was glancing at Aziraphale every so often, fleeting looks mixed with too many emotions to put into words. Aziraphale pretended he didn’t notice, keeping his eyes fixed on the changing landscape.

They pulled into the gas station, with its flickering neon blue and red lights and a scratchy speaker playing an old romance song. There was something oddly beautiful about it, the way the static intermingled with the melody, off beat from the flickering lights, and there was something even better about the way Aziraphale looked as he left the car, standing on the cracked pavement, looking around, as he waited for Crowley.

_“Set me free. Free from doubt. And free… from longing.”_

Crowley was staring at him, as usual, staring at his white hair the way he seemed to glow in the light, which he may as well have. The world angelic crossed his mind unironically, and he smiled, suddenly struck by how very human this situation was. Here he was, an immortal demon of Hell, feared by millions, ‘invulnerable to holy water’ (it’s true if everyone thinks it), reduced to nothing but a pining human with a crush on someone whom they revered as an infallible, godlike figure. This was torture.

“ _Into your arms, I’ll fly. Locked in your arms, I’ll stay.”_

It was impossible to look away from him, like staring into the setting sun, knowing you _should_ look away, that this was a horrible idea, but you couldn’t. You were simply stuck there, staring at something so warm, so giving, so bright, and so, _so_ dangerous. But in this scenario, Crowley was the dangerous one, the one who could absolutely ruin something so pure—because that was his job, what he was meant to do.

“ _Waiting to hear you say ‘no other love have I’...”_

An image flashed through his head, the year was 1918, the Great War just ended, and the tension in the air was brewing, building to something much worse, but in one little corner of the world, a small seaport town in Italy, no one was aware, no one knew what was coming, and they celebrated late into the night. It was a perfect sight, save for the one lonely red-haired man sitting in the corner, on his third bottle of wine, a wide-brimmed hat covering his eyes.

Had you gone up to talk to him, he would’ve responded with a horrible attempt at an Italian insult and turned away. If you were him, you would know he was staring at the happy couples, watching them dance, and thinking of someone himself, someone who would’ve loved it here, the happy humans, light laughter, soft sound of harps and violins creating a soothing melody. But that someone wasn’t there, no matter how much the man in the wide brimmed hat wished he was, no matter how much he wished he could simply ask him to be here, for a night of frivolous drinking and assorted debauchery.

“ _No other love-”_

The music abruptly stopped as Crowley finally walked up to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale glanced around, confused, before looking at Crowley’s raised hand.

“Why-”

“I don’t like the static. Grates on my ears,” he said shortly, brushing past Aziraphale and gesturing for him to follow, “If God had wanted people to keep using old things, she wouldn’t have let them make new ones.”

“I’m sorry, how old is your car?” Aziraphale asked, catching up with him.

“Shut up.”

“Four hours in and you’ve already told me to shut up three times, this is going to be lovely.”

Crowley almost told him to shut up again, but instead just shook his head, swinging open the front door of the manager’s office of the motel, letting it slam against the wall, rattling the entire room and radically increasing the already-present doorknob shaped dent in the drywall. The manager was a middle aged woman who looked as if she were annoyed by the sole reason that she still existed on the planet. But Crowley did tend to have that effect on people.

“Can I help you?” Her tone made it sound like she’d rather do literally anything other than help them.

“Can we get a room?”

She popped her bubblegum, glancing between the two of them, and raising an eyebrow before looking back at her computer. “We’re full.”

The exaggerated eyebrow raise and pointed glance at the shelf full of room keys behind her from Crowley was enough for Aziraphale to know what was about to happen. He cleared his throat, gently tugging on Crowley’s arm. “We can go somewhere else, really, there’s another place just down the roa-”

“Oh no, we’re staying here.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, but didn’t argue again. Just as long as he didn’t kill her, he wouldn’t be mad. Hopefully Crowley knew that.

“Ma’am, as much as I’m sure this… haunted shithole, rundown rat den of a motel is a favorite among tourists and locals alike, I really have to ask. Are you absolutely sure you’re all booked up? One hundred percent?” Crowley’s voice was fiery again, dangerous and violent, and if Aziraphale were on the receiving end of it, he would’ve run in the opposite direction, but the woman didn’t flinch. She continued staring back at him, chewing her gum for several seconds, before answering at all.

“We’re full,” she repeated.

Crowley stared at her, and she stared right back, and Aziraphale had to admire her moxy, even though it would likely end up ruining her life. He tugged on Crowley’s arm again, and he pulled his arm away, stepping forward and snapping his fingers. The woman slumped over, her face falling onto her keyboard as Crowley stepped forward, humming, picking a room key from the shelf and tossing it to Aziraphale, who fumbled to catch it for a moment before saying anything.

“Is she-”

“She’ll wake up eventually. Probably,” he added as he turned and left the building, Aziraphale following close behind him after glancing back to look at the unconscious woman.

“Well, isn’t this… tragic.” Crowley entered the room first, wrinkling his nose at the cracked walls and dirty floors. “Not a mini bar in sight.”

Aziraphale shrugged, locking the door behind them. “It’s only one night, we’ll survive.”

“We could survive without the one night.”

“Well, yes, but doesn’t sleeping in a motel only add to the roadtrip charm?”

Crowley gave him a disgusted look before flopping face first onto the mattress. “I’m thinking this is your attempt to torture and kill me. Why did I sign up for this?”

“You asked me,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“Yes, but I was under the incorrect assumption that we’d be traipsing around France staying in five star resorts and sinking billionaire’s yachts.” His voice was slightly muffled, so he shifted a little on the mattress to better articulate his _extreme_ distress. “But you have horrendous taste.”

“Now now, don’t insult yourself like that. I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

“For the fourth time today, shut the hell up, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: @kaijuvenom


End file.
